The Longest Night

“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” she said with a faux smile. The last thing she needed was for the power to go out. The store’s locks were electronic and when there was no power, there was no business. She turned, ready to ask Kimberly about the appointments for the day, but Kimberly wasn’t paying attention to Cassandra. No, Kimberly was in a trance. Change that to starstruck. She was starstruck at the sight of Mark, Matthew or whatever the boy’s name was.

Interesting. She looked almost nice when she was in the throes of lust.

Every woman had her weakest point, usually tied to a man, and finally Cassandra had found one in Kimberly. Mark, Matthew or whatever.

“Kimberly,” said Cassandra, and Kimberly jerked out of her reverie.

“Yes?”

“Can you get Mr. Pipe Fixer some water? And be quick about it. It hit ninety degrees yesterday. Whew. These summers can be hot.” She drew a hand over her forehead for effect. “I’m going to check in the back for the order form.”

“His name is Mark,” grumbled Kimberly.

“Oh, yes.” Cassandra glowed in Mark’s general direction. “Suck up some air-conditioning, Mark,” she said, and then disappeared. “I have to work.”

She plastered herself to the door and then listened to Kimberly’s monosyllabic tones, shaking her head. The conversation was about as scintillating as the stock market report. Eventually Mark disappeared—a less sensitive woman would have said “ran”—the electric door beeping behind him.

Kimberly slunk into the back room, shoulders drooping, traditional rejection pose.

For a second, only one short second, Cassandra identified with Kimberly. Women could be such suckers for men.

Finally, she sighed. What would it hurt? “You know, we could make a deal,” said Cassandra.

“What sort of deal?”

“You want Mark?”

“No,” the girl said, lying through her teeth.

“I can help you there, if you’ll help me.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Cassandra knew that laughing wouldn’t advance her cause, so she choked it down her throat. “Can I tell you something, woman to woman?”

Kimberly shrugged her shoulders, an ungainly move that accentuated her bad posture.

“You could have him eating right out of your hand.”

“Not in this lifetime,” said Kimberly, dripping sarcasm.

“I’m serious.”

“Uh, no. I don’t look like you, Miss Ward.”

And how it must have pained her to admit that. Cassandra shook her head again. “It’s all about the illusion, Kimberly. How you look has very little to do with it.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Cassandra went on, “Do you know how many people have asked me my secret? Tons. I could have my own infomercial and make a mint, but it’s no good if you tell everyone what it is. But here I am, offering you a gesture of friendship, offering to share my most valuable insights regarding the weaker sex, and you’re turning them down. I think that’s rude, Kimberly.”

“I don’t want to be rude,” muttered Kimberly.

“I didn’t think so. You’re not the type. Let me help you.”

“You just feel sorry for me.”

“Maybe. But I need your help this summer, and I don’t want to have to tippy-toe around the store, trying to figure out what to say, what not to say, it’d be très awkward. This is my first summer in the store alone, and I need to keep things in order while Dad is gone. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Kimberly shrugged.

“We’ll start with the basics today. Flirting and Body Language 101. Tomorrow I’ll bring in some clothes and makeup.”

“You really think you could turn me into something else?”

Cassandra dragged Kimberly over to the mirror and planted her in front. “Smile.

“Now pull up your chin—

“Shoulders back—

“One foot in front of the other—

“Hand on hip, fingers splayed—

“Now what do you see?” Cassandra asked.

“I do look better.”

“It’s nothing but confidence. It’s the most potent weapon in a woman’s arsenal, so don’t leave home without it. Now go out to the front and find the order from Mr. Amesworth.”

“But I don’t know where it is!” Cassandra shook her fingers. “Nuh-uh-uh. Shoulders back, chin up. Just remember, confidence.”

DIAMONDS by Ward & Ward was on Wabash Street right in the middle of Jeweler’s Row. It was Chicago’s very own version of 47th Street. Window after window was filled with fiery gold and diamonds. Diamonds that could fill a woman’s eyes with tears just as fast as they could empty a man’s bank account.

Noah walked in, expecting, hoping to see Cassandra; instead he found a frumpy female digging through papers.

“Is Cassandra here?”

She held up a hand and pulled out a document from the bottom of the pile. “Aha! Got it. Wait a minute. I’ll get her.”

Noah didn’t quite follow that, but he stayed silent as the girl disappeared into the back.

While he waited, he looked in the display cases, noticing the myriad stones that winked back at him. Most were set in rings or bracelets, but some had been scattered loosely on velvet-covered trays. White diamonds, red diamonds and yellow diamonds.

When he lifted his head, she was there, framed in the doorway.

Noah had to hand it to her—the woman could make an entrance. Her low-slung jeans were just a hair shy of decency, hugging centerfold curves. She wore a simple long-sleeved shirt. If any garment that hugged that magnificent chest could be considered simple. They were clothes you’d see every day on the streets of Chicago, but no other clothes sent him from flaccid to rock-hard in under three seconds flat.